


Brink Of Insanity

by A_Million_Regrets



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Blood, Choking, Dan and Phil are both kinda insane, Dark fic, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Insanity, M/M, Murder, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Love, Verbal Humiliation, Violence, Violent Sex, Violent choking, deeply unsettling, explicit talk about rape/murder/suicide, fascination with knives/stabbing, fascination with suicide/murder, please proceed with extreme caution, twisted fic, weird storyline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:41:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27859982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Million_Regrets/pseuds/A_Million_Regrets
Summary: Dan and Phil are trapped in a strange room with no windows, doors or freedom. It's a little suffocating, and being human is tiring. Slip into insanity, and it feels much better.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	Brink Of Insanity

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: I'm adding this note for those of you who are too lazy to read all of the tags. This fic is unsettling, dark and twisted. Please for the love of god, DO NOT read this if you are not fond of dark fics in general. Obviously, this fic contains some very questionable content. Graphic scenes and conversations about suicide/murder/death. Read at your own risk. Thank you very much.
> 
> This story was born after my dear friend @BLfangirl765 over at Wattpad challenged me to write a dark fic. Thank you for doing that :) I did not enjoy writing this :) and I'm not glad I wrote it :) Thank you for giving me this horrible idea :) jk jk I genuinely tried to include everything you like so I hope you enjoy, you sick fuck :)

**~** **You** **~**

“. . . fifteen . . . sixteen . . . seventeen . . . eighteen . . . nineteen . . .”

“Stop.”

“. . . twenty-one . . . twenty-two . . . twenty-three . . . twenty-four . . .”

“Stop it, Dan.”

“. . . twenty-six . . . twenty-seven . . .”

“Will you please stop?” Phil repeated flatly, staring vacantly up at the bland ceiling of the cramped room. “How many times do you have to do this? It's giving me a fucking headache.”

Phil blinked his exhausted eyes with a deep sigh and sat up tiredly. He shook his head to get rid of his lightheadedness and scratched his neck with chipped fingernails. “What the fuck are you counting?” he inquired in annoyance, lounging atop the creaky, half-broken bed.

“Thirty . . . thirty-one . . . thirty-two . . .” Dan mumbled dazedly, his dull, empty eyes fixated on the cracked wall. He was sitting on the cold, rocky floor, legs crossed and arms hanging limply. His face was expressionless, and he was merely a shell of his previous self, his skeletal figure only a shadow of his former body.

The little broken bulb hanging from the ceiling creaked and flickered, scattering a vomit-inducing yellow light around the room. It illuminated the grime on the walls and the dust in Dan's hair. Phil sighed tiredly and fell back onto the dirty bed with an irritated groan. “Dan,” he murmured through gritted teeth, turning to his side quietly with an angry puff leaving his lips. “Stop it.”

“ . . . thirty-five . . . thirty-six . . . thirty-seven . . .”

“I said stop.”

“. . . thirty-eight . . . thirty-nine . . . forty . . .”

“For fuck's sake!” Phil's temper boiled over, and in a fit of intense, uncontrollable rage, his emotions overflowed like a tsunami. He bolted upright fluidly and grabbed a rock off the floor, roughly hurling it in his direction with full, unrestrained force. The exertion made his fingers tingle and his arms ache. With blazing cold blue eyes, he watched as it collided with the side of Dan's head and toppled to the floor with a quiet, echoing thud. The simple power of it made Dan jerk back in shock and fall to the floor limply, putting an end to his annoying mumble.

A small trickle of blood slid down the side of Dan's face and painted his temple crimson red, a thin gash opening on his head. Even then, the pain didn't seem to affect him. His eyes were empty and emotionless as he stared at the bland walls, keeping still and silent. His face was unusually pale, and his hands and limbs were extremely bony. He looked like a forgotten skeleton.

Phil lowered his shaky hand, breathing roughly as he stared at Dan's motionless body for a long, disorienting moment. It didn't affect him initially. It was almost as though he had lost the ability to _feel_ for a split second, but soon, like the bursting of a balloon, his thoughts and emotions came rushing again. The numbness in his heart lifted and a deep, aching regret overpowered him. He blinked repeatedly and snapped back to reality, his heart sinking deep into his stomach. “Dan!” he cried out with remorse, leaping to his feet and rushing towards him in panic. Every last cell of his body trembled with regret and shame, a bone-deep ache throbbing in his chest.

“I'm sorry,” Phil whispered shamefully in a tearful voice, taking an injured Dan into his arms. He hugged Dan tightly to his chest, holding his blood-covered face gently with his hand like he was made of fragile glass. Dan snuggled up against him and closed his eyes, making Phil's chest ache. His fingers turned red, and he accidentally smeared the blood across Dan's face and his tattered T-shirt, hyperventilating in panic. “I'm so sorry.”

Dan opened his brown eyes slowly and stared up at Phil emptily. “It's okay,” he murmured in a calm voice, “I'm okay.” He let out a deep sigh. “After all, it's nothing new.”

Phil sniffed guiltily and hugged him against his chest, placing kisses into his soft hair. “Baby. My poor baby . . .”

“The marks . . . ” Dan whispered in a dull, monotonous voice. “I was counting the marks on the wall.”

“I'm sorry,” he repeated with a painful swallow, gazing at Dan's blood-smeared face.

Dan sighed softly in exhaustion and lifted his trembling hand, cupping Phil's cheek. “I love you, Phil,” he whispered softly.

“I know, baby,” Phil mumbled silently, “I know.”

Dan smiled slightly, but it didn't reach his lifeless eyes. He swiped his thumb across Phil's bottom lip, staring at him oddly. “I wish you would just kill me.”

Phil frowned suddenly and slapped his hand away in anger, letting go of him. “No,” he refused with narrowed eyes, “Not again. Stop trying to make me angry.” He rose to his feet and stared down at Dan with a clenched jaw. “Fuck, you always do this. You ruined our romantic moment, you fucking idiot.”

Dan rolled his eyes irritably and let out a humourless chuckle. “Who the fuck cares? I want to die.”

Phil glared at him. “You're such an annoying little shit. I wish I could just strangle you.”

Dan smirked and taunted, “Do it.”

Phil swallowed and turned away with gritted teeth. “Stop it,” he forced out of his mouth.

“Do it, Phil. Don't be a pussy,” Dan goaded fearlessly.

Phil balled his hands into tight fists and took a deep breath to control his anger. “Don't,” he warned in a serious tone. “Don't provoke me, baby.”

“Do it, you coward!” Dan screamed loudly.

Phil whirled around in fury and stomped angrily towards Dan, filled with unbearable rage as he dropped to his knees and slammed Dan against the nearest wall. His grubby, blood-stained fingers coiled around Dan's slim neck, fitting around it perfectly as if his neck was made specifically to be strangled by Phil's hands, to be clawed and ripped into pieces. Adrenaline rushed through his body, and he was in an excited high of his anger. His fingers pressed into the soft skin of his neck, nails digging into the fragile skin as he squeezed and squeezed, glaring into Dan's wide eyes.

“Is this what you want?” Phil spat angrily, his blood boiling and simmering with rage underneath his skin. His hands tightened and he felt Dan's neck throb under his hands, sending thrilling shudders through Phil's whole body. Dan gagged helplessly, gasping and sticking out his tongue, desperately fighting for air. His eyes still taunted Phil, staring without fear, and Phil slammed him back against the wall harshly, trembling uncontrollably.

Some part of him regained sympathy and told him to let go, but he couldn't. His hand tightened even more, and the blood drained from Dan's face. He leaned close and peppered the side of his face with small, affectionate kisses, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Tell me to stop, baby,” he murmured softly, “Beg me.”

Dan choked and shuddered, saliva dribbling down his chin. Phil smiled fondly. “Tell me to stop, or I'll kill you,” he mumbled into his ear, slowly letting go of his tight hold. “I love you.”

“I . . .” Dan choked out, and Phil let go curiously. Dan heaved and coughed violently, panting roughly. “Fuck me,” he croaked hoarsely.

Phil smiled widely. “Sure.”

**~** **can** **~**

Phil woke up drowsily in a pool of his own blood, blinking repeatedly and sitting up with a groan. The dirty room was filled with a rusty smell of blood and the small space was more humid than usual. “Did you cut me again, you bitch?” he asked with a displeased frown.

Dan was sitting cross-legged on the floor near the bed. He looked up with a smirk, lifting the blood-smudged knife and licking it from the base to the tip. “Yeah,” he answered smugly, “I wanted to see how quickly you heal this time.”

Phil looked down at his arms but found no wounds or injuries. “How quickly did they heal?” he asked with a curious frown.

“Minor cuts take about thirty seconds.” Dan shrugged disinterestedly. “Deeper ones take a full minute.”

Phil nodded thoughtfully and fell back onto the bed, staring absently at the cracks on the ceiling. “What should we do today?” he wondered aloud. “Stare at the ceiling? Count the cracks on the wall?” Phil smirked at Dan. “Suicide?”

Dan smiled. “Well, that's an exciting option.”

“Hmm,” Phil hummed, “What other entertaining thing should we do?”

“Try to escape,” Dan suggested bitterly.

Phil let out a deep, rumbling laugh. “You know that's impossible,” he responded truthfully, glancing at Dan who was staring down at his palm. He slashed the skin with the knife in his hand and watched the blood drip to the floor with bored, impassive eyes.

Phil turned away wordlessly, folding his arms behind his head indifferently. He tried to recollect for how many years they had been in the room, but he couldn't remember. It could've been a few years, a decade or millennia, he didn't know. Both of them had no memories of their life or any knowledge about the dingy room. They didn't know how they ended up in the room, why they were there, or how they could escape. All they knew was that they were insanely in love with each other.

The room had no doors or windows, no way to contact the outside world. It was just a tight, narrow room with a musky smell in the air. It didn't have many types of furniture, only a small, broken bed, an old table and a three-legged chair. The walls were a dull grey, damaged and crumbling with fractured concrete and chipped paint. The floor was rocky and had an ever-present coldness. It was just a small, claustrophobic space with only a broken bulb as a source of light.

There were a few dusty rags and towels for them to use. They had found a few sharp knives and a hammer in the table drawer. There was absolutely nothing else in the room. They never experienced hunger, and never had the urge to defecate. Wounds and bruises healed in minutes, and blood and dirt vanished every few days. Life was boring and unbearable, and sometimes, Phil wondered if he was even alive anymore. Life had become something worse than death, and insanity was waiting just around the corner.

“Let's kill each other,” Dan proposed nonchalantly.

Phil sighed in exhaustion. “No.”

“Choke me like you did yesterday,” Dan said with no emotion in his voice. The cut on his palm had healed, and he made a new one. “At least that was fun.”

“That wasn't yesterday. That was a long time ago,” Phil revealed absently.

Dan shrugged his shoulders and sprawled on the floor. “Well, it's hard to keep count without a calender.” he disclosed with a sigh, lifting the knife and inspecting it closely. His tongue poked out of his mouth and licked the sharp tip with a smile. “Hurt me.”

“Nah, I'm tired of that. It's boring,” Phil revealed honestly, sitting up in silence. He patted his lap and gestured, “Come here.”

Dan glanced at him blankly, his eyes as cold and empty as always. The bulb above flickered and shone, and Dan's fingers tightened around the knife. He rose to his feet gracefully and climbed to Phil's lap, straddling his waist. He placed the knife down on the bed and cupped Phil's cheeks with a hollow smile. “I love you.”

“Mm.” Phil smiled back in silence, placing a gentle kiss on Dan's lips. His arms wrapped around Dan's waist and he pushed Dan back, leaning down and pressing open-mouthed kisses on his neck. Dan's legs wrapped around Phil's waist tightly and he made a satisfied noise from his throat. “I love you too.”

Phil pulled back slightly and placed their foreheads together. Dan smiled and there was a strange gleam in his eyes. “Hurt me, Phil,” he whispered softly.

“No.”

“Stab me,” he murmured with a wide grin, and he could see Dan grabbing the knife with his hand in the periphery of his vision. “Hurt me.”

“Don't provoke me,” Phil mumbled, his hands creeping up to loosely coil around Dan's throat.

Dan whimpered in anticipation. “Ah, fuck. Hurt me. Hurt me, please,” he shuddered, “Choke me.”

Phil let go of his neck and slapped him across the face so hard that his cheek turned red. Dan panted and breathed heavily, squeezing his eyes shut tightly in bliss. Phil smiled down at him and snatched the knife from his hands, pressing the tip against Dan's throat. Dan gasped and panted, opening his shocked eyes wide. Phil pressed it deeper, and Dan tipped his head back in fear, panting harshly. “Phil . . .”

“Should I stab you?” Phil murmured quietly, placing a kiss on Dan's lips. “Should I slash your throat?” He kissed down Dan's jaw, pressing his knee against Dan's groin. “Should I kill you?” The knife slowly pushed deeper and drew blood. “I love you.”

Dan trembled violently, and Phil smirked. He let go of Dan and dropped the knife, sitting back unconcerned. “That's all you're gonna get. I'm not in the mood,” he admitted brusquely. “It's boring.”

Dan breathed heavily for a few seconds and calmed down slowly. He took a deep breath and sat up, giving Phil a bored nod. He stood up wordlessly and walked to his usual spot near the wall. “One, two, three, four . . . ” he began to count the cracks on the wall like he did almost everyday.

Phil sighed and turned away, closing his eyes in annoyance. “Fuck.”

**~** **not** **~**

“I want to rape you,” Phil confessed sullenly, lying on the cold floor with his feet propped up on the bed. “Can I rape you?”

Dan rolled his eyes in disinterest, hitting the wall with the hammer. Loud thuds invaded the silence, and the walls vibrated, new cracks forming everywhere. “It's not rape if you ask for my consent, you fucking idiot.”

“Ah,” Phil nodded, examining his chipped nails quietly. “That's right.”

“Let's kill each other,” Dan suggested quietly.

“No.”

“Double suicide.” Dan chuckled sullenly.

“No.”

“You're such a pussy,” Dan taunted with a smug smirk. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he looked skinnier and skinnier every day. His eyelids were droopy, and he always had that _unhinged_ look in his cold eyes these days. “Why are you so scared, Phil?” He rolled over and sat up, hurling one leg over Phil's hips and straddling his thighs with a knife in his hand. “What makes you still hold on to life?” He placed the tip of his knife on Phil's bare chest, pressing it down harshly. “Is it hope?” He laughed derisively, and the knife slowly moved down, slashing Phil's skin and oozing blood. “It is hope, isn't it?”

Phil shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Hmm.” He nodded contemplatively, lifting the knife and moving his finger along the edge. “I think we're already dead.”

Phil lifted a curious eyebrow, and he felt the wound on his chest healing smoothly. He sat up and adjusted his legs, wrapping his arms around Dan's waist. “What makes you say that?”

“Look around you,” Dan whispered in a quiet voice. “We're already in hell.”

“It's not hell if you're with me,” Phil said quietly, placing his hand on Dan's cheek. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on his mouth, trailing his lips down to the crook of his neck. He kissed the sweet spot and took the skin between his teeth, biting hard enough to draw blood.

“I dream about it,” Dan murmured in an emotionless voice, his fingers slowly moving in circles on the back of Phil's head.

“About what?” he asked silently. Dan angled his head to give him better access, and Phil smiled, sucking on the bruise on his neck and licking the blood off his skin.

“About death,” he answered vacantly, “Every day. Every second.”

Phil stilled. “I know.”

“I don't want a painless death,” he continued frigidly, his voice wavering, almost shaking with thrill. Phil pulled back and stared at Dan's wild brown eyes. Dan breathed deeply, his hand clenching around the knife as he stared at it in awe and amazement. “I want pain. I want to _feel_ it. The pain. I want to suffer. I want to ache and feel my bones cracking and my skin melting–and–and blood. I want blood. Lots and lots of blood. I want to feel _human._ Like I'm human. Lately, I can't fucking feel _anything_. Everything is just . . . ” He blinked and looked up, meeting Phil's eyes. “. . . numb.” Phil stayed quiet, and Dan licked his lips with wide eyes. “Do you get it, Phil?”

Phil swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yeah.”

“Life is bad, Phil. Life is shitty and stupid. There's no fucking point to any of this. All we have is each other, and I don't know who I am anymore. Was I always like this, Phil? Was I always this crazy? I don't know. I can't remember.” Dan's eyes glazed over, and there was a delirious, almost hysterical look on his face. “Those tiny things. Maggots. They're inside my brain. Eating my memories. I can feel it. I'm not _me_ anymore. Something is taking over, or . . . or maybe I'm going insane. Can you see it, Phil? You know me. Can you tell–”

“Baby,” Phil whispered softly in a gentle, soothing voice, holding Dan's hand tightly in his own. “Stop.”

Dan blinked, once, twice, thrice, and snapped out of it, shaking his head with a frown. “Sorry, I . . .” He closed his eyes and dropped the knife, taking a deep breath. He leaned forward and circled his arms around Phil's neck, hugging him closely. “I love you.”

Phil held him tightly and whispered, “Yeah.”

“Don't worry,” Dan murmured in a sincere voice. “I won't kill myself.” His voice was quiet and muffled. “I can't leave you alone. I won't die without you. No matter how painful it is, I . . . I'll wait until you're ready.”

Phil's hands curled into fists. “I know.”

**~** ** escape ** **~**

“I've always been curious about death,” Dan divulged tersely, his words empty as it left his lips. “It's just such a fascinating thing. Death.”

Phil barely registered what Dan was saying, giving an absent nod or a quiet hum every few sentences. His brain was hazy, somewhere far far away from here, somewhere where it wasn't so dull and dusty. Somewhere with colours so vibrant and lively that it pricked his eyes. Somewhere he could see the starry night sky and feel the wind against his face. He was drowsily dreaming, dreaming of crowded roads and busy streets, of shops and trains filled with people and noisy chatter and a laughter so loud that it rang in his ears. He wanted to see, see all the bright lights at night and smell summer in the air.

“No one actually knows what death is, do they?” Dan theorized thoughtfully, slicing his skin and making cuts on his forearms. “What if this is death? This room is death.”

Phil was distantly aware of Dan's words, but his mind was still submerged under a sea of thoughts. He sat back on the table and rested his back against the wall, staring at his filthy hands in silence. He had been confined inside the four walls of the room for so long that he had forgotten how it felt to stand under a clear blue sky, soaking up the warm sunlight that poured on his face. He missed breathing in the fresh air and dipping his feet into cold water. He missed the smell of coffee, the comfort of soft linen sheets and the hum of a refrigerator in a quiet home.

If only he could escape, _leave_ this dark, dirty place and go back to his home with Dan. If only he could feel something other than the constant, despairing sense of numbness. If only . . .

“Is death the same as non-existence?” Dan wondered aloud, and Phil finally jolted out of his thoughts, glancing at Dan who held the knife tightly with a small smile playing at his lips. “Tell me, Phil,” he said happily, “Do you ever wonder–” He raised the knife, and the blade glinted in the yellowish light. “–what it feels like to not exist?” His red lips stretched into a wide grin, and he stabbed the wall repeatedly. “How would it feel? How would it _feel_ , Phil?”

Phil watched him closely, his sharp eyes following his every move, every breath. “You wouldn't feel _anything_ because you'd be dead,” he answered cautiously, narrowing his eyes at Dan.

“Yes!” Dan shouted loudly, letting out an excited laugh. “Exactly!” He turned to Phil and smiled with a wide-eyed look on his tired face. His feet were unsteady, and his words slightly slurred. “How do you think it feels like to not feel anything?”

The bulb above flickered with little popping noises and the light dimmed considerably. The stress lines on Dan's face and the dark circles under his eyes became more prominent. Phil sat up knowingly. “You're not making any sense.”

“You don't understand,” Dan murmured quietly, moving his finger along the sharp side of the knife. Blood dripped to the floor, and Dan frowned irritably. “You never understand me.” Dan crouched on the floor and grabbed a large rock that he usually used to sharpen his knife. “What is death?”

Phil contemplated the question quietly for a while. “Darkness,” he expressed with a thoughtful frown. “Probably.”

“Mm . . . darkness . . .” Dan mumbled with a small smile, sharpening his knife. “Darkness for millions–no, maybe billions and billions of years. Nothing but darkness . . . endless darkness . . . ”

The next few seconds happened in slow motion. Dan lifted his knife, turning the tip towards him and holding it tightly with both hands, pointing it directly at his neck. Phil's eyes widened immediately, and he leapt off the table in panic, dropping next to Dan on the floor and holding the knife tightly. He breathed shakily, putting an end to whatever Dan had planned in his mind. “Stop,” he whispered in a gentle voice, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Dan blinked and avoided his eyes. “Let go.”

Phil's hand tightened, and he tried to pull the knife away. “Dan . . .” he murmured in a soft voice. “Stop.”

“Let go, Phil,” Dan mumbled through gritted teeth. “I'm not in the mood to argue.”

Phil clenched his jaw and pushed Dan back slightly, gathering every bit of his strength and forcefully pulling the knife out of his hand. Dan's eyes widened and burned with anger. “Give it back!” he screamed loudly.

Phil threw the knife away and it landed on top of the bed. Dan glared at him and tried to stand up, falling back on his bum when Phil pulled his wrist. “Stop it, Dan!”

“Let–” Dan tried to struggle out of his grip. “Let go of me, you fucking asshole!” he screamed, and his voice cracked, some kind of emotion returning to his usually emotionless voice. He panted and punched Phil accidentally, kicking him to get away. “You don't understand! I need it. I need–”

Phil gritted his teeth and forcibly grabbed his wrists, slamming him back against the wall with all of his strength. “Dan!” he yelled, “Stop it. Listen to me!”

Dan's head crashed against the wall, and he cried out in pain. Phil used that opportunity and used his legs to wrap around Dan and trap him there, holding Dan's wrists so tightly that it was bound to leave bruises. Dan panted and struggled, but his movements were slow and sluggish. He finally stopped and stilled, breathing heavily to catch his breath. Minutes went by in complete silence, and the broken bulb went out and came on again.

“Dan,” Phil whispered softly, “Look at me.”

Dan clenched his jaw. “I hate you.”

Phil nodded. “Okay.”

Dan punched his chest repeatedly. “I hate you so fucking much. Goddammit!”

“Okay.”

“I hate you, Phil,” Dan whispered hoarsely, and his voice cracked. “I h-hate this.”

Phil let go of his tight hold and wrapped his arms around Dan. “I know.”

“I hate this. I hate this so much. Fuck.” Dan sniffed, and his eyes filled with tears. “I don't want to be here anymore.”

Phil swallowed. “Yeah.”

“I . . . I don't know who I am anymore,” Dan sobbed into his chest, “I don't know why this is happening to me. I c-can't do it. I can't. I can't. I can't.”

Phil's arms tightened around him, and for the first time in a long time, he could see and feel everything with unbelievable clarity. All this time, he had been in a state of haziness, trapped in a constant feeling of disorientation and imbalance. He didn't remember who he used to be, who Dan truly used to be. He had forgotten what it was like to truly _feel_ emotions such as love or pain or fear. After all, on the brink of insanity, it was normal to lose most of your original personality.

During times like these, he recovered bits and pieces of his previous self, and he was able to see things much more clearly for a short period of time.

“I'm not me anymore . . .” Dan sobbed uncontrollably, his tears soaking Phil's already dirty T-shirt. “It's so p-painful . . . It hurts. It hurts so much. I can't take it anymore. I can't do it anymore. Please . . . please, kill me . . .” Dan buried his face into Phil's chest and hiccuped, wailing hysterically. “Kill me, please. Please, Phil. Kill me.”

“I'm sorry,” Phil whispered, and all he could do was hold him tightly in his arms and apologize over and over again. “I can't. I'm sorry.”

**~** ** from ** **~**

“You're such a fucking asshole!” Dan screamed loudly, breathing roughly as he paced back and forth, left to right, looking skittish and crazy. “I hate you!” he shouted with a clenched jaw, kicking the wall in anger. “I hate you!” He kicked harder and harder, loud thuds filling the silence. “I hate you! I hate you! I HATE YOU!” He panted harshly, landing another kick at the wall.

Phil was sprawled on the dirty floor, watching Dan with a dull gaze. His arms and limbs were numb, and his brain was stuck in a weird haze. His head throbbed and ached, little needles pricking his skull from deep inside. The light was dim, barely enough to make out Dan's looming figure suddenly standing next to him. He looked up, and Dan glared down at him, hatred and loathing clear in his eyes as he kicked him in his stomach. “Fuck you, Phil!” he screamed harshly. He looked angrier than usual, and his hands quivered as he lifted them, grabbing Phil's shirt collar. “Give it back! Give me the fucking knife!”

Phil's mind cleared up just a little, and he slapped Dan's bony hands away in anger. “Don't touch me,” he snapped irritably. He had a sudden urge, an impulse, to hurt, to cause pain, to punch and kick and watch blood dripping down Dan's face. He shoved Dan back roughly with as much strength as he could manage and watched earnestly as his back collided against the wall with an uncomfortable thump. He made a pained noise from his throat, a hurt-filled groan leaving his lips. Phil grabbed his hair, twisting it in his hand. “Shut the fuck up,” he whispered in a warning tone, pulling him forward by his hair and throwing him to the floor. “Don't yell at me.”

Dan glared at him with resentment, and Phil stepped back sullenly. Dan took that opportunity and grabbed a rock from the floor, smashing it against Phil's foot. Phil let out of yelp of pain and stumbled to his knees, looking back with his cold blue eyes, feeling _enraged._ Dan let out a devious smirk. “I'm tired of seeing your face, day after day.” He spat in fury, “Every day. All the time.”

Phil's head throbbed painfully, and he squeezed his eyes shut, sitting back and rubbing his forehead. “Shut up,” he warned.

“Why am I stuck with you?” Dan shouted in a furious voice.

“Shut up, Dan,” Phil breathed deeply, massaging the bridge of his nose. His heart squeezed and burned, and his fingers tingled. His head was pounding, and his whole body was taut and tight with tension, as if someone had tied a rope around him.

“Why does it have to be _you_?” He stood up and shoved Phil. “Fuck you! Get out of my sight!”

“I told you to shut up!” Phil screamed. His jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared with anger. He ground his teeth and panted. He had accidentally bit his tongue in rage, and the metallic taste of blood exploded in his mouth. The curtain of numbness in his body lifted, and a fierce madness pumped through his veins. _Pain._ Pain was all he felt, and anger, an out of control, non-compliant anger towards Dan, towards himself, towards the world, towards everything.

“I hate you! I HATE YOU,” Dan screamed. “I hate you, you fucking twat!”

Dan's voice was _irritating,_ grating on his ears, driving him mad. His hand reached forward before he could stop it, and he grabbed Dan's foot, pulling him harshly to the ground and connecting his fist with Dan's jaw in a moment of absolute fury. “SHUT UP!”

A gasp of pain left Dan's lips, and he choked as Phil's hand tightened around his throat, his thumb digging into the pulse point of his neck. Dan inhaled hoarsely and glared at Phil, desperately scratching his arms with his fingernails. “You never shut up!” Phil screamed in his face and slammed his head against the floor repeatedly. “You never listen to me! You just keep nagging and nagging and nagging every single fucking second of every day!” Phil slapped him across the face so hard his cheek turned red, and blood trickled out of his nose. “I'm sick of you! I don't want to see you. I don't want to see your face. I don't want to hear your voice! I wish you'd just fucking die!”

“Let . . .” Dan croaked and coughed. His face went purple, and he wheezed. “Let go!” he cried out, and lifted his leg, kicking him back abruptly with so much force that Phil gasped and his back crashed against the wall. Dan launched forward with his raised fist and punched him below his jaw, making Phil let out a shriek of pain. His movements were quick and unpredictable. He grabbed Phil's hair and slammed him back against the wall. His head banged against the wall, and his vision went slightly black. Phil tried to struggle and grab his arms, but before he could, Dan punched him repeatedly on the face. “Give it back! Give it back!” he panted and cried out as he kicked Phil's stomach. “Give it back!”

“Stop it!” Phil yelled loudly, defending himself with his hands as Dan landed punch after punch, a crazy, wild look in his eyes. His movements weren't precise, but hasty and aimless. His motive wasn't to actively hurt Phil, but to release his anger and frustration. “Stop it, Dan!” Phil's anger surged, and he threw himself at Dan, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pinning him to the rocky floor. His head hit the floor with a sickening crack and bounced painfully. He gasped in pain and spat out blood from his mouth, coughing violently and panting heavily.

Phil clenched his jaw and grasped his shoulders, roughly turning him around and pinning his face to the floor. His hand squeezed Dan's neck, and he pulled down Dan's pyjamas in one swift motion, slapping his ass cheeks. Dan groaned and struggled. “No . . .” he wheezed desperately, “Fu–ugh! No!”

Phil panted heavily, and his heart pounded violently. He could feel his erection throbbing painfully, and Dan's disapproval turned him on even more. Beads of blood trickled down Dan's temple, and there was a deep gash on the back of his head, oozing blood. His movements were weak and sluggish, and Phil shoved his face to the floor cruelly. “Shut the fuck up, bitch,” he growled in a gruff voice, pushing his jeans down and tugging his cock.

Dan's fingers scratched the floor, and he croaked hoarsely, “Let go of me.”

Phil grabbed Dan's hair harshly and pulled him back, shoving his fingers roughly into Dan's mouth. “Suck,” he commanded impatiently, twisting his hair forcibly.

Dan gasped and tried to struggle out of his grasp, but Phil's fingers forcefully opened his mouth. His fingers rested on Dan's soft, velvety tongue and pushed in abruptly, moving in and out relentlessly. Dan gagged and tears pooled in his eyes, saliva dribbling down his chin. He coughed violently, and Phil pinned him to the floor, grabbing his hips and spitting saliva onto his ass. He rubbed the crack and shoved two fingers into Dan's hole, spreading him open. Dan's legs trembled, and Phil smacked his ass. “Keep still, bitch.”

Dan's body immediately went limp, and he lay on the floor shakily, squeezing his eyes shut. Phil added a third finger and fucked him with his fingers impatiently. It didn't take long for him to open up, and Phil pulled back with his heart beating loudly in his ears. His knees wobbled as he aligned his cock with Dan's puckered hole, shoving it in without warning. Dan gasped in pain, and his fingers curled. “F-fuck,” Dan choked out breathlessly.

Phil thrust forward relentlessly, letting out a satisfied groan. His whole body was warm and sweaty, adrenaline mixed with pleasure thrumming through his body like a drug. There was a fluttering feeling in his stomach, and he growled with a rough pant, moving rapidly without stopping. Dan's body was still, his face pressed harshly against the floor and his eyes squeezed shut. “Ah, fuck, yes,” Dan breathed shakily, opening his eyes that now had a renewed glow. “Hurt me.”

Phil's hips moved faster and faster, and he grabbed Dan's arms, pulling him towards his chest and slamming into him roughly. Dan let out a loud moan and arched his back, his hand sliding down to pump his cock. Their breaths came out in rough pants and filled the room, the sound of slapping skin loud in the silence. Grunts and moans were lovely noises that made Phil feel like a human, like he was finally alive. He pushed Dan back to the ground and grabbed his hips, slamming into him repeatedly. Dan panted and writhed, letting out a shudder of pure pleasure. “Is this what you wanted?” he shouted, “Is this why you provoked me? Huh?”

Phil grabbed Dan's neck, his fingers wrapping tightly around the skin. He pulled Dan towards him, making him sit snugly on his cock. Dan moaned, and saliva trickled down his chin, his eyes filled with tears as he whimpered. He looked beautiful, with sweaty hair and blissed-out face, impaled on Phil's cock. Phil grunted with arousal, and his fingers tightened around Dan's neck. “Beg for it.”

“Fuck, yes,” Dan breathed and shuddered, “Fuck me, please. Please. Please. Hurt me. H-hurt me. Please. I'll do anything. C-choke me. Choke me. Please. Please. Please. Fuck, please–” His moans slowly turned into desperate sobs, and Phil licked the tears on Dan's cheek slowly.

“You're such a fucking nuisance,” he spat angrily, “Fucking shameless whore. I should kill you right now.”

Dan sniffed, and his entire body trembled violently. “Please, Phil. Please. Please. Please–” he sobbed, “Do it, please. P-please–”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snapped, and Dan's sobs stopped instantly.

Phil pulled out and pushed Dan to the floor harshly, grabbing his shoulders roughly and turning him around. He pressed his cock against Dan's hole and pushed in again, leaning down to grab his throat. “Are you enjoying it, Dan?”

Dan whimpered, biting his lip to stop himself from making any noise. Phil's fingers wrapped a little tighter around his throat, and Dan's eyes rolled to the back of his head. Phil smirked. “Are you, baby?” he whispered, “Answer me.”

Dan opened his mouth breathlessly. “Y-yes.”

“Good.” Phil's movements were merciless, with deep, fast thrusts that made Dan gasp and shudder. Phil finally decided to grant Dan's wish, and his hand squeezed Dan's neck tightly. Dan's face went red, and he gasped for breath, wheezing helplessly. His fingernails clawed at Phil's arms, and his tongue lolled helplessly. Tears dripped down his cheeks as he choked. His back arched, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. His head knocked back against the floor desperately before going completely limp.

Phil felt a wetness near his stomach, and he noticed Dan's cum, immediately angering him. “Who the fuck told you to come?” he shouted, his hold on Dan's neck tightening even more. “You horny piece of shit.”

Dan's eyes widened immediately, and his nails scratched Phil's hands in desperation. His helpless, desperate face made Phil's toes curl and his stomach flutter. His pace increased, and he stared at Dan's terrified face as he thrust forward without a care, feeling his orgasm building and building like never before. He closed his eyes, and he could feel the skin of Dan's neck wrinkling under his palm. He gasped and let out a loud groan as he came into Dan's ass, his hand slowly releasing Dan's neck.

“Fuck,” he panted heavily, thrusting a few more times before sliding out completely. His breaths were ragged, and his head was dizzy, but he somehow managed to notice that Dan had passed out. He leaned down and pressed kisses down Dan's jaw, licking and biting above his throat. “Love you. I love you,” he mumbled breathlessly.

Phil pulled Dan against his chest and hugged him tightly. “I love you, Dan.”

**~** ** this ** **~**

Dan was unusually quiet. He was always quiet these days, but there was somehow something different about it that day. The light was faint in the congested space, and the dingy room was smellier than usual. Phil was lazily sprawled on his back across the dirty floor, staring at Dan who was sitting near the grimy wall, his bony fingers brushing along the marks on the wall. His eyes were empty and dead, his face devoid of any emotion. There was something weird about him. He wasn't making any annoying noises. He wasn't counting. He wasn't screaming. He wasn't crying. He wasn't yelling at Phil or begging for death. He hadn't touched the knife in a while, and there was no sound of grinding knives or falling stones. Dan was just . . . _quiet._

_“_ Dan,” he whispered finally with impatience in his gruff voice.

Dan didn't look at him, and Phil sighed. “Dan. Hey.” He frowned when he didn't get an answer. Dan's eyes were completely focused on the floor, his back resting against the wall and his knees pressed to his chest. “Hey. Dan. Baby.”

Dan blinked and looked up glumly, but he had a faraway look in his eyes, like his thoughts were roaming somewhere away from here. “What?” His voice itself was distant, almost uninterested.

Phil sighed again and stood up, moving towards Dan and dropping down next to him on the floor. Dan immediately flinched, and his hands were trembling. Phil's eyes widened in surprise. “Are you scared of me?”

Dan swallowed and glanced away, his hands squeezing his knees. “No.”

Phil stared at his tired face. “You are.”

Dan frowned. “No, I'm not.” He bit his lip and stared at his knees in silence for several seconds. “I'm scared of myself.”

Phil crossed his legs silently and rested his back against the wall, staring straight ahead. “What do you mean?”

“I don't trust myself,” he whispered in a soft, timid voice, “I'm not sure what I'm going to ask you to do next.”

Phil blinked, and he was pleasantly surprised. Dan looked like his normal self for once, and he wasn't expecting Dan to suddenly be this rational and level-headed. Dan hadn't been himself in a long time. “It's okay. I won't kill you. I haven't lost my sanity yet.”

Dan was silent for a long time, looking to be deep in thought. “Yeah,” he whispered, “That's right.”

“What's wrong with you?” Phil demanded, frowning at Dan.

“Nothing,” he mumbled, resting his head against Phil's shoulder. “I love you.”

“Yeah.”

There was silence for a while, and Phil grabbed Dan's hand, intertwining their fingers tightly. Dan squeezed his hand, shuffling closer to Phil's side. “Phil.”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something weird?”

Phil smiled and pressed a kiss against Dan's curly head. “You can ask me anything, Dan.”

Dan nodded, but he looked slightly hesitant. “Will you . . . will you hate me if I kill you?” 

Phil wasn't surprised. Dan asked things like this quite often. “Probably not,” he mumbled truthfully, “I'll probably understand why you did it.”

Dan's shoulders relaxed. “Okay,” he whispered, “Good.”

“You're really quiet today,” Phil told him. “And a little strange,” he added as an afterthought. 

Dan chewed on his bottom lip, staring at their joined hands for a long time. “I'm just . . . I'm just a little tired of this,” Dan muttered in a pained voice. His voice was soft, but it held a lot of hefty emotion. Phil could feel the weight of Dan's sadness just by hearing that quiet wavering of his voice. It was heavy. Heavier than he could handle. After days and days of benumbing insanity, this fleeting moment of clarity was a little too painful. He felt more human, and being more human came at a price. Being more human meant having normal feelings like pain, terror, loneliness, love, and a deep, unquestionable longing for _freedom._ Insanity was way better than watching all of his hopes crash and burn.

“Phil,” Dan whispered in a delicate voice after what felt like hours. “Let's die, Phil.”

Phil swallowed, and he didn't know what to say. Dan squeezed his arm gently. “Let's die and get out of here.”

“I . . .” Phil hesitated breathlessly. The lightbulb flickered and went out completely, leaving them in ominous darkness. “We don't have to die. We can escape from here togeth–”

“That's impossible,” Dan interjected sharply, “You know that, Phil.”

Phil stayed silent, and Dan continued, “What are you so afraid of? Why are you still clinging to life?” 

“I–” Phil wrapped an arm around Dan. “I can't watch you die,” he whispered, “I can't do it.”

Dan remained silent, staring at the floor for long minutes. He pursed his lips and slipped his free hand into his pocket. “I knew it,” he mumbled in a barely audible voice. “You'll never do it.”

Phil frowned. “What?”

“I knew it,” Dan repeated with a sigh and a grim look on his face. The light suddenly came on, flickering and flashing repeatedly. Dan pulled his hand out of his pocket, and a sudden bright glint of a knife immediately made Phil's eyes widen and his jaw fall open in shock. “I'm sorry . . .”

“W-wait–” Phil tried to move away, and his mouth opened to let out a scream, but before he could move, Dan rushed forward in a split second, and Phil felt the cold knife touch his throat. He gasped, and his mouth opened to scream at Dan to stop, but it happened unexpectedly, without any pain or feeling. 

“I'm so sorry, Phil . . . ”

Phil had imagined death to be something intensely painful and agonizing. He was expecting memories to flood into his brain and flashbacks of his life to play in front of him like a movie, but nothing really happened. Death wasn't slow and dramatic. It was sudden and quick. There was no time to think back and regret. His body went numb almost instantly, and for a split second, he couldn't understand what had happened. He automatically collapsed against the floor, gurgling and coughing up blood violently.

“Let's die, Phil.” 

Phil's eyes filled with tears, and he gasped for breath. The last thing he saw was thick red blood on his fingers and then everything went black.

**~** ** prison ** **~**

Phil jolted awake in shock, gasping for breath as he sat up on the bed, his hand instinctively touching his neck. His mind was foggy and roaming in the dream world, and it took a few minutes for him to regain his memories and his composure. He breathed deeply and looked around the room with wide eyes, taking in the cramped room, dusty old table, dirty floor and creaking bed. “Dan,” he mumbled in a hoarse voice.

Dan glanced away from the wall. “You're awake.”

Phil breathed deeply, but his hands were shaking. His eyes widened as he stared at Dan, his heart beating loudly as the memories slowly flooded into him. “When did you wake up?”

Dan stared down at his empty hand. “Just now.”

Phil swallowed. “What are you doing?”

Dan frowned and turned back to the wall. “Counting.”

Phil's breaths quickened. “Counting . . . counting what, exactly?”

Dan shrugged. “The marks on the wall,” he muttered in a calm voice, “Nine thousand eight hundred seventy-seven . . . That's the total count.”

Phil's mind cleared, and he slapped his forehead with a sudden lump in his throat. “Fuck,” he cursed sorrowfully, “I just remembered . . .”

The look Dan gave him was knowing. “What?”

“The marks . . . it's the number of times we have killed each other, isn't it?”

Dan nodded, and they watched as a brand new mark formed on the wall. “Yeah.”

**~** **cell** **~**


End file.
